


If You Meet Me (Have Some Courtesy)

by mizface



Series: Nature Boy [5]
Category: Brimstone, Welcome to Night Vale, due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizface/pseuds/mizface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Devil doubts he'll find anyone interesting in this Chicago bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Meet Me (Have Some Courtesy)

**Author's Note:**

> While this is part of a series, it can be read as a stand-alone. You just have to know that this Turnbull is related to one of the Canadian founders of Night Vale. But if you do want to know a little more beforehand, this little tale would be a good primer: [A Very Strange, Enchanted Boy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1020611).
> 
> A thousand and one thanks to my intrepid beta, Hazelwho, who is always willing to give the odd places my mind goes a try.
> 
> Title from Rolling Stones "Sympathy for the Devil" (because how could I resist)?

The Devil leaned back against the bar and stifled a sigh. While he supposed Chicago was better than some of the places his wayward damned souls had fled, it had really lost its flair. Oh, he understood the allure of glitter and technological advances; he’d used them to his advantage often enough. But there was something to be said for the simplicity of earlier days. All this flash didn’t touch the beauty of a blood-splattered room, flower petals scattered among the bullet-ridden bodies. _That_ was Chicago.

Still, he mused as another foolish little soul fluttered by, trying to garner his attention without knowing just what that meant, it wasn’t all bad. He turned and caught the bartender’s eye, lifting his glass and giving him a wink and a smile. The young man’s face flushed prettily, and the Devil’s smile morphed into a smirk. Another round on the house, just because he could. He considered his form in the mirror. It was one of his favorites – slim, tall, and just on the right side of old enough to be taken seriously, though the longer hair kept him from appearing too conformist. His suit was impeccable, both in fit and style. All the easier to lure in unsuspecting prey. 

Confident his drink would be arriving soon enough, he turned back to survey the crowd. The bar was mid-range - not so seedy as to be crawling with vermin of both the literal and metaphorical variety, but not so upscale as to be filled with vapid, shallow creatures. The music wasn’t overpoweringly loud, and there was just the right amount of smoke in the air, creating a thin haze that made people look just a little better. It was that beautifully unsettling time of night where people hovered between tipsy enough to have fun and too drunk to make good choices. The Devil closed his eyes and drank in the feel of possibility, sending out the tiniest tendrils of energy to see if there was anyone worth considering. 

Despite the mix of clientele, most of the people here tonight were utterly boring, so beneath his notice that he couldn’t bring himself to find a suitable simile or metaphor for them. But there were a few flashes of potential. It just depended on what might be more fun – giving a darkened soul its final push toward damnation, or starting someone pure down that path. He opened his eyes to see who appealed to him more, but before he could focus on anyone, he was surprised by a hand on his arm.

“Erika!” The man said, smiling widely. He was tall and bland, fair-haired and fair-skinned and not at all the Devil’s type, especially dressed in that ridiculous red uniform. This wasn’t someone the Devil wanted to be seen with in any circumstance. He looked down at the hand on his arm, then up to give the man a withering stare. 

“Do I look like an Erica to you?” he asked icily. Between his tone and the look he’d given the man, he should have fled by now. Or at least let go of the Devil’s arm. Apparently he was too stupid to do either. 

“Not with a C, no,” he said, smile faded a bit as he tilted his head, considering the question much more seriously than he should have. “Not with a K either,” he went on, and the Devil barely kept himself from frowning in confusion. What the Hell did that mean?

He looked down again at the man’s hand, then back up into his eyes, on the verge of dropping just the tiniest piece of his façade when the man finally let go, shifting so he held out his hand. “Renfield Turnbull.”

The Devil just quirked an eyebrow and reached back to get his drink and take a sip, shifting his attention back to the crowd. It was an obvious dismissal, but this Turnbull person still persisted in trying to keep his attention. 

“It was an honest mistake,” he said, smiling again. “Though I’m sure if we’d been in better light I would have seen that your wings aren’t nearly as dichromatic.” He peered over the Devil’s shoulder for a moment. “Or transdimensional.”

The Devil narrowed his eyes, the words forcing him to take a closer look. The man didn’t appear to be insane, and he’d driven enough people over the brink to know. Nor did he have any of the markers of someone Touched, so in theory he wouldn’t be able to see the Devil’s wings, especially not in this form. That didn’t stop him from feeling a little insulted – they’d always been one of his best features.

He decided to ignore Turnbull’s ramblings. He had better things to do than continue the conversation. “I believe we’re done here. I’m not who you thought, and there’s no need to talk any further.” He took another drink, half-hoping Turnbull would ignore the dismissive tone, give him a reason to do something vile to the man.

“I suppose that’s true, since you’re leaving once you’ve finished your drink,” was Turnbull’s stunningly matter-of-fact reply. The Devil just blinked, caught by surprise at the man’s audaciousness, before laughing and setting aside his drink. He straightened and smoothed down his tie, ignoring that Turnbull was taller. He’d never needed height to dominate.

“I don’t believe you have any say in the matter. And I suggest you realize that before you say or do something unfixable.”

“There isn’t anything for you here, that’s all,” Turnbull shrugged, seemingly unaffected. 

“I’ll be the one to decide that,” the Devil replied, putting a hint of Hellfire into his voice.

Turnbull just kept smiling that ridiculous smile. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not without all the facts, at least. Wouldn’t want it to be an uninformed decision.” 

Before the Devil could reply, Turnbull’s smile grew impossibly wide, stretching his face into a masklike parody of humanity, and the room seemed to change. The noise of the crowd faded as it shifted into darkness, and the air took on an icy bitterness. The people milling around grew indistinct, in their place hints of writhing things coiling and uncoiling around them. The Devil tried to focus on the shapes, but all he got was a sense of the Void trying to draw him in, ruffling his supposed-to-be incorporeal feathers unpleasantly. It took actual effort not to move toward them.

“Understand now?” Turnbull asked in a voice as much felt as heard, grating over his nerves like sandpaper over raw skin. A sliver of cold shot through him, momentarily banking the Hellfire within and causing a shiver to run up and down his spine. Startled, the Devil looked into Turnbull’s eyes and found them empty as black holes, though behind he could see an awareness that spoke of an ageless hunger. 

Then Turnbull blinked and everything was back to normal, his smile back to human proportions, his eyes dancing with merriment. The crowd of people went along as if nothing had happened, greeting each other and moving to the bar to get drinks.

“I need to get back to my friends,” Turnbull said, nodding toward a table. “Sorry about the misunderstanding! If you see Erika, tell them they owe Old Woman Josie a visit. Her porch needs repainting.”

The Devil watched him go, trying to reconcile the person sitting down and shyly taking a dark-haired woman’s hand with the immensely powerful, unfathomably ancient energy he’d felt emanating from the man just moments before. True, he himself was a master of deception but this was beyond anything he’d experienced, and he didn’t like it one bit. But while the Devil had been called many things, stupid had never been one of them.

He finished his drink in a gulp, frowning down at the empty glass at the decision he’d been forced to make. Let Ezekiel deal with the hunt on his own this time. Chicago had lost its appeal.


End file.
